


Downfall

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Oneshot, Other characters have minor roles, sandor the drifter, sansa the blogger, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 13:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Sansa and Sandor cross paths in an Arizona desert, and find a creative way to beat the isolation!





	Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of SanSan that came tumbling out the other day, since I'm taking a break from my other fics. My first one-shot! I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Thanks to my awesome beta HardlyFatal for helping me with this one, and for correcting all my horrible auto-correct misses ;-)

Sansa pulled into the old, dusty diner. After driving for four hours, she and Lady needed a rest and some food. Her small wolf/German Shepherd cross lay passed out, sprawled over the whole back seat of her small Toyota pickup. Lady usually spent her time on road trips in the bed of the truck where she could feel the wind and occasionally stick her head in the back window to say hello to Sansa, but today her owner had deemed the 110 degrees hot enough to warrant a ride inside in the A/C. The southern Arizona desert heat was no joke. 

So when Sansa got Lady out of the truck and tied her up to a post on the side of the diner, she did so only after making sure Lady had a full water bowl. Then with a loving pat to her head, Sansa headed inside. 

Walking through the doors of the diner was like stepping into the past. There was no fancy-dressed hostess or glass partitions between tables like the restaurants Joffrey had always taken her. No, his pompousness required her ex-boyfriend to order thousand-dollar bottles of wine and lobster tail, when she had always preferred a good burger and shoestring fries. 

This diner was perfect—a couple of people at the old-timey booths, a handful of truckers at the bar, and an old grizzled waitress standing behind the counter flirting with said truckers. When she caught sight of Sansa at the door she called over to sit anywhere while she pulled a pen out of her once-blonde beehive hairdo. 

Sansa chose a corner booth in the back where if she looked out the window she could see Lady lounging in the shade. She dropped her backpack onto the seat beside her as the waitress walked up to her table. 

“Mornin'” she said in a slightly southern twang. “Can I get ya somethin' to drink?” 

Sansa noted the woman’s smile and decided she was a friendly. She made a mental note to ask after her meal if she could take a photo of the waitress for her blog. 

“Iced tea, sweet,” Sansa replied with a wide smile. Then she asked, “What’s the special today?” and added the name from the waitress's name tag, “Carla?” 

At the use of her name, Carla smiled at the younger woman. “Today it’s a barbeque bacon burger with fries.” She jotted down what Sansa figured was her drink, the notepad resting on her ample stomach. Her dress was pink with pinstripes, and she wore a stained white apron over the front. 

“That will be perfect,” said Sansa, not even bothering to look at the menu Carla had put on the corner of the table. “Could you make it a double patty? And do you happen to have any shoestring fries?” 

Carla paused in her writing and shot Sansa a look, her eyes giving Sansa's slender frame a once-over before raising her eyebrows and adding a note to the pad. Then she looked up and smiled at the request for shoestring fries. 

“Just for you, sweetheart, I’ll check to see if we have any,” Carla replied with a smile. She looked genuinely happy to be serving someone who wasn’t a local. She gathered up the menu and walked past a small family who had a baby in the aisle in a high chair to ask them if they needed anything else. 

Sansa's thoughts turned with her out the window, to the expanse of nothingness that surrounded the diner. There were a few big rigs and a smattering of smaller vehicles in the parking lot, including her small truck and the small teardrop camper trailer she was pulling with it. Her vehicle definitely looked out-of-place, as all the others were much older and not hauling anything. It appeared as though she was the only non-local in the place. 

The low hum of voices and the soft background music was pleasant, but what occupied her thoughts at that moment was not. She had spent years engaged to Joffrey Baratheon and when she had finally had the guts to tell him she was heading off on her own, much to her own family's dismay, it had been incredibly freeing. 

Nearly as soon as she left him she had renewed her interest in blogging, and when she reached out to her old advertisers, the ones who had been with her since the beginning of her blog pre-Joffrey, nearly all of them had renewed their association with her. Her blog Stargazer was where she shared her thoughts, her life as a Wolf Mom, and more recently her travels. She frequently spotlighted people on her travels and with the mix of people she had already featured this Spring, Carla would fit right in as one of the first for the summer. 

Sansa was very thankful to have gotten rid of Joffrey before she went ahead and married him. She had almost done it—even had to give back the godawful engagement ring he’d given her. That dumb thing had been so big it was more like a shackle than a piece of jewelry. Then again, perhaps that was what he had meant it to be. 

There was a time long long ago when she had fancied herself in love with him, but that faded after they both graduated college and she’d realized she had matured but he had not. When he still wanted to have pool parties and ogle the other young women, while she wanted to plan her future and how many kids she wanted, they had started to grow apart. In fact, he annoyed her. Shortly before she ended their relationship it had begun to feel more like Joffrey was an annoying child she was forced to take care of. 

It had taken her years to finally acknowledge that when she met a man she wanted to marry, a man who was worthy of having children with and for whom marriage would truly be a partnership full of mutual love and affection, she would settle down—but never settle. Until then she was determined to have fun, to be the young single woman that she was, and to live life exactly the way she wanted to, without her every move being dictated to her. 

Travel was her way of getting to know herself, and so far she had enjoyed it. Finding a small trailer hadn’t been hard. Leaving her family was, though. 

Her mother and father had understood her need to get away. Ned and Catelyn Stark were fiercely protective of all their kids, but even they understood her need for escape after being so caught up in the posh Baratheon lifestyle for four years. Ned had helped her find the trailer and the truck, and had even loaned her a small down payment which, due to her advertisers, she was already halfway to being paid off. 

But Catelyn had put up more of a fight when she found her eldest daughter would be leaving them again, so soon after returning home. She was convinced some unholy atrocity would befall Sansa while wandering away from under her mother's wing. And though neither Sansa nor Ned had convinced her otherwise, in the end she had respected Sansa as the adult she was and had even offered her blessing for safe travels. 

Robb and her other brothers were caught up in their own lives but she had always been close to them, so when she’d told them she was going out on her own they had a few words of encouragement. Rickon had just started ninth grade and was too busy chasing after girls to care what his big sister was doing. Bran was in his last years of high school and spent most of his time studying for his SATs. He had been injured in a skiing accident a few years back and was now paralyzed from the waist down, but had taken up wheelchair skiing instead and was on his way to earning a full, promising scholarship to an ivy league school for a computer security degree. He’d always been the smart one, and Sansa knew he’d go far in that career. 

She even missed her cousin Jon, who lived with them at her parents’ home in Maine. He had come to live with them before Sansa was old enough to remember. He was a couple years older but had always kept himself apart from them. Jon was quiet, but also very friendly, and Sansa sometimes found herself missing that docile kindness he had in spades. 

Her sister Arya was the one who everyone had thought she’d have the least amount of contact with, since they’d always been so different. Arya was the wild child, the tomboy who always ran in the same group as her brothers, while Sansa was the feminine one, learning how to cook and do her makeup and wear matching clothes while Arya always came home looking like a dirt ball. 

But when Sansa had moved out of the family home and in with Joffrey after college, things had started to change. She got the sense that Arya was beginning to feel a protective streak for her, having never kept it a secret that she didn’t like Joffrey. Then when Sansa had broken up with Joffrey for good Arya had been downright pleasant. Now they spoke on the phone almost every week and texted every couple of days. They even said “Love you” after their phone calls! “Miracle of miracles”, her mother was fond of saying whenever one of them said something pleasant about the other. 

Sansa's reverie was interrupted by Carla bringing out her meal—an enormous burger and a mound of her favorite shoestring fries. After putting the plate in front of Sansa, Carla pointed out the ketchup at the back side of the table and gave the burger and Sansa another inquisitive look before accepting Sansa's thanks and resuming her post at the counter. 

The burger WAS huge, but she always ordered extra when she ate out. Lady is going to love this, Sansa thought with a smile. She glanced out the window and saw that Lady hadn't moved from where she lay, tongue lolling and her chest trembling with her panting. The water in the bowl was almost half gone so Sansa turned to her burger and set about cutting it in half. 

A jingling of bells sounded the arrival of another customer. Sansa glanced up and paused with her food halfway to her mouth. Quickly realizing she had been about to stare she took a bite of her half-burger and put it back onto her plate, fixing her gaze to a chip on the edge of the cheap dinnerware. 

The newcomer was tall, dark, and handsome. There was no better description. His long hair was pulled back behind his ear and she had seen a slightly bent nose, a thin beard with flecks of gray at the chin, and a strong neck. She flicked her gaze up at him and back down again to get a better look. His hair fell just below his shoulders in jet-black waves, and he wore a faded black t-shirt, blue jeans and tan boots. And he was tall—good heavens, was he tall!—well over six feet. 

Sansa took a bite of fries and chewed, then swallowed before glancing back up at the stranger. From where she was seated, she could hear the rumble of his voice as he asked for a booth. Sansa looked over at Carla. 

She was just in time to see a look of shock wash over Carla’s features, her double chin trembling as her mouth fell open for a moment in surprise. But the waitress schooled them away quickly and grabbed a menu from the edge of the counter. Then she gestured to the booth between the young family and the door, and as the man turned to the booth Sansa saw what had caused Carla’s look of shock. 

He had what appeared to be horrible burn scars covering much of the right side of his scalp and part of his face. It extended nearly from his crown, down his forehead to where it pulled down the corner of his right eye, and pulled back towards what was left of his right ear. The scarring continued down until it disappeared beneath the collar of his t-shirt. The hair he left hanging in front of his face really didn’t do a good job at hiding it, which was apparently what he intended it to do. 

It shocked her as much as it had Carla, but Sansa felt she hid it better. The scarring made her take back the Tall, Dark, and Handsome description. She surreptitiously watched as he took a seat, noting that he sat with his back to the family who hadn’t paid him the least bit of attention. He stored his backpack on the opposite seat. 

Sansa couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through life with that kind of scarring. Or for that matter, what he must have endured when getting the scar. She wondered at the pain he must have experienced and nearly felt nauseous, so she instead looked out the window. 

She nearly cried out in surprise at the massive black dog that was taking turns with Lady, sniffing her butt and then allowing her to sniff his. They stood together, her ears perked and his floppy ears standing forward at attention, though neither of them looked overly concerned at the others presence. On the contrary—their body language said they were VERY interested in each other. 

Alarmed at what she was seeing, she quickly got up to investigate, leaving her things on her seat. As she passed the two tables between her and the door she couldn’t help but notice the smells she encountered—clean baby powder from the child in the high chair, and then a soft, musky cologne from the stranger. She almost laughed out loud at the thought that they were two smells she wouldn’t mind having in her own life. 

She pushed through the door and quickly arrived at the spot where she had left Lady tied. Sansa found her chest-down, bottom-high, ready to play with this newfound friend who stood a head taller than she. Sansa had been around wolf hybrids her whole life so she wasn’t a stranger to large dogs, but this one was BIG. He was nearly the size of a Great Dane but looked like a black Lab. His head was enormous, and he was looking at Lady like he had no idea what she was doing. But then he caught sight of Sansa and surprised her by loping over to sniff her hand. 

“Hey boy,” she crooned to him in a friendly voice, holding her hand out so he could get a good sniff. 

It took just a few seconds for him to apparently deem her safe. He gave her hand a cursory lick with a large tongue and she reached out to scratch his ears. He shied away from her touch for a split second before leaning into the scratch, obviously deciding that her neatly clipped nails felt good enough to set aside any social anxiety he must have had. 

Lady stood off to the side looking at the pair, her rope stretched to the max, though not eyeing them in a protective manner like Sansa would have expected. After all, Lady had been known to nip at people she hadn’t felt were safe for Sansa to be around, Joffrey being one of them. Overall Lady didn’t like people she didn’t know, and preferred to stick with Sansa’s family. Now she just stood watching them, her ears perked up, interested in the interaction between her human and the black dog. 

“Stranger,” came a deep, raspy voice from behind Sansa. The new dog's head came up but he didn’t move. She turned to find the dark stranger standing at the corner of the building. 

He was an intimidating sight—one side of his handsome face exposed, the other scarred and mostly covered by a curtain of black hair. From this point of view she could see how broad his shoulders were, how wide his chest was and the muscles that lay under his t-shirt. He made her nervous with his height and dark demeanor. 

He looked at her for the barest moment, hands hanging limply at his sides, and then he looked at the dog beside her and merely said, “Come.” When Sansa looked down at the dog he glanced at her before returning to his master, and both of them turned and rounded the corner of the diner, both their strides long and purposeful. 

Sansa was unsettled. The man was certainly not friendly—when one encounters a person alone beside a diner, propriety dictates at least a cursory greeting, she thought. He had hardly acknowledged her before calling his dog back. 

But there was also the look in his eyes that had confused her—where she had thought to see disdain, she saw… resignation? It was the barest hint of emotion, just this side of nothingness. His shoulders dropped slightly and his body language had told her, “Get a look in, I’m not here to talk.” 

Did he expect people to spurn him? How unfortunate, she thought, to go through life feeling that way. But there was also a slight air of hostility surrounding him and she shivered involuntarily at the thought. She reminded herself that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome could very well be a mass murderer, so trying to get past his demeanor was a fool’s mission. 

She looked down at Lady, who looked up at her with such a forlorn expression that Sansa chuckled. “I know, girl. You don’t have many friends these days.” She bent down to scratch behind Lady’s ear as she had done with the other dog—Stranger, his name must have been. The thought reminded her of the way the man’s voice had sounded when he'd said the dog's name, and she shivered again. The tone was as dark and foreboding as his countenance. 

Lady gave a whimper but then turned in a half circle before laying back down, her chin on her paws. She looked up at Sansa in that cute way dogs do, her whiskered eyebrows moving up and then down. But there was no help for her—the man must have wanted his dog to stay away from Lady for some reason. Despite Lady being fixed, perhaps the man wanted his dog to be as solitary as his master. 

Sansa was glad he hadn’t attempted to talk. Her propensity to be nice even when the situation dictate she need not be notwithstanding, she pushed away the urge to converse with him. It was better that he go his way and she go hers. 

When she rounded the corner of the diner she found the black dog laying in the shade of what used to be a gas station canopy, beside what at one time may have been a gas pump. He lifted his head when he saw her and gave his tail a thump, but it twisted her heart knowing it wasn’t right to visit a dog without the permission of the owner. And since there wasn’t any way she was going to ask the owner for that permission, she gave Stranger a sad smile and opened the door. 

The jingle of bells announced her return, and as she walked back to her table she saw the man’s eyes glance up at her before quickly returning to the old newspaper now laid out in front of him. Sansa gave him as little acknowledgement as he gave her and kept walking, smiling widely though at the baby who sat at the table between hers and the quiet drifter’s and yet allowing both their scents to drift over her senses. The little girl cooed at Sansa and went back to grasping at toys her parents had laid out on the table in front of her. Determined to remain upbeat and hopeful, Sansa resumed her seat in her corner. 

She took her small laptop out of her bag and put it on the table beside her plate. Now was as good a time as any to write her next blog entry. Since she hadn’t seen or done anything particularly interesting over the last few days it took her a few bites of burger to decide what to write. 

May 12, 2016 – Lady and I entered Arizona today, much to her chagrin. She is not liking the 110 degrees any more than I am. How lovely it is to have a trailer with a shower! Now if only I could get the A/C to work… 

Though I knew I wouldn’t always enjoy meeting the people I encounter on my travels, I faced today a situation where I met someone who perhaps scares me a little bit. It has left a bad taste in my mouth (which I can taste when not chewing this amazing burger from the equally amazing Carla of LuLu's Diner). I’m sure many of you know from my previous posts that I am a lover of nice people. Today I met someone who doesn’t want to be nice. Sansa stopped typing and smiled, thinking of the enormous black dog she had befriended outside. This person—we shall call them the Hound—doesn't necessarily want to be mean, but when no overture of friendship is broached from the opposite party I feel unsure of myself. 

I will be happy to eventually move on from this scenario, as the Hound and I are currently sharing breathing space in said diner. 

A clamor of tiny bells announced the baby had dropped one of her toys beside her high chair, drawing Sansa's attention. The young mother was in the middle of arranging the diaper bag and purse to retrieve it when Sansa saw the stranger's head turn as he looked at the toy on the ground. And without hesitation he reached down and picked it up, the tiny toy looking miniscule in his large hands. He half-turned to the baby and handed it to her, turning only so much as to show her only the unscathed side of his face. Sansa noticed his effort, and also the quirk of the corner of his mouth which could only barely be deciphered as a smile. 

His gesture must have been well-received because she heard a giggle erupt from the little girl and she flailed her arms, giving the toy a good jingle as the stranger turned back to the meal that had just arrived. 

Ah, thought Sansa. So he has the ability to be civil. She took another bite from her burger and went back to her writing, trying to put the stranger out of her mind. 

Our plans for the immediate future include spending the hottest part of our trip driving in the Toyota and then finding a nice place to park for an early evening. I know Lady and I could both use some downtime in this crazy heat. Arizonans (or Arizonians, or Arizoniacs, whichever you prefer)—I don’t know how you live in this! 

Let’s get one thing clear, though—Arizona is simply STUNNING. The wide open spaces, the orange and tan landscape, and the plants and animals that have evolved to survive on very little water are all UH-Mazing. I have taken countless photos and will publish galleries of all the places I visit. Talk to y’all soon! 

Just as Sansa typed the last few letters the baby at the next table dropped the toy again, on the side where the man sat. And again without hesitation he bent down and retrieved it for her, this time offering up a bigger smile and giving her a small poke to the stomach when she smiled at him before turning back to his meal. The parents just chuckled and went back to their quiet conversation. 

Well, huh, thought Sansa. The man was a conundrum, and as she went on to check her emails she had trouble concentrating on what she was reading. Halfway through an email from a potential advertiser she realized, while her eyes were tracking along the lines of text, her mind was instead conjuring up fictional scenarios for why the man was in the diner, how he had gotten his scar, and what he was really like to people who knew him well. 

It was one of Sansa's downfalls—the urge to know people’s stories. But again, she told herself this was a story she would not pursue. 

Carla, on the other hand, was ripe for conversation. When she came over to ask if Sansa needed anything, she also readily agreed to an interview for Stargazer. Just as Sansa was walking back to the restrooms to freshen up before sitting down with Carla, she looked back to see the man shaking a rattle at the baby, a smile on the side of his face he was allowing the family to see. Sansa couldn’t help but smile as she entered the restroom. 

It was just a few minutes later that she exited and found the scarred man's seat empty and a tip laying on the table. A tiny spark of loss came to life inside her, but she couldn’t completely quell the disappointment at losing the opportunity to observe an interesting person. 

And she was certain he would have been interesting—he had been so reserved when he’d called his dog away from Sansa and then walked away without so much as a word in her direction; but then he had interacted, quite openly, with an infant. And from the tip amount he had left on the table she could tell he was generous. All that paired with being incredibly handsome yet horribly disfigured… I may have just missed out on The Most Interesting Person Of The Year, she thought ruefully. Damn. 

She shook it off as best she could and retrieved her laptop and her phone for the camera. Carla was waiting at the end of the counter, and Sansa needed to interview her. But the whole time they sat together discussing Carla’s past and her history with the diner, Sansa couldn’t prevent her thoughts from straying to the intriguing stranger with long black hair. 

 

  
It was almost an hour later when Sansa finally hugged Carla goodbye and promised to call her when the blog post was up—because apparently this 64-year-old waitress was totally anti-computer but excited to find out she was going to be on a popular internet blog… 

After untying Lady, Sansa brought her to the trailer and put the remainder of the burger into Lady's food bowl, where the wolfdog slowly ate with small bites until she licked the bowl clean. It was almost comical to watch her eat in such a picky manner. 

Sansa's hair was a very bright red and her skin exceedingly pale, so when she brought Lady out for a walk she also grabbed her large purple umbrella. It protected her from the sun long enough for Lady to do her business and to get a drink of water. Ten minutes in the sun meant Sansa looked like a tomato if she didn't wear sunblock. 

“Where do you want to sit, Lady?” Sansa asked on their way back to where the truck was parked, but already knowing where Lady was going to go. The dog led her to the cab of the truck, and Sansa had to laugh. 

“I don’t blame you, girl,” she said with a scratch of Lady’s ears. Sansa could feel the heat deep in her lungs when she breathed, and she could only imagine what it was like to walk around with a thick fur coat. 

The dog clamored into the backseat and settled down on the small cushions as Sansa slid into the driver's seat. Then she put on some country music and they headed out in the opposite direction from which they’d come. 

It was time to call family and check in, so she dug out her phone and used voice commands for the truck to dial her parents' home in Portland. 

"Sansa!" her sister Arya answered. "You haven't called in DAYS! Where have you been? What have you been doing? Who have you met?!" 

The whole family knew Arya was jealous of Sansa's travelling. Everyone—including Sansa—had thought it would be Arya who would strike out on her own and be the free spirit. Sansa had always been reserved, lady-like, proper, and dutiful. But after spending years trying to make all those characteristics work as a potential bride, it had caused her carefully-formed formal exterior to crumble. She had resumed her blog but with a new attitude, and viewers had poured in once word got out that she had undergone a character shift. 

"I'm in southern Arizona," replied Sansa, as Arya dramatically sighed in disgust. "I just found a lovely little diner and Lady and I had lunch." She heard movement on the phone and could almost picture Arya's short brown hair flopping about her face as she fell backwards over the couch armrest. It was her sister's favorite position for talking on the phone. 

"Have you met anyone interesting?! You teased us about the Hound—who is that?! Is it a man? What did he look like? Did you talk to him?" 

Sansa laughed. "Arya, you have to let me answer the first question before giving me five more." 

"I know, I know, but I just... I want to KNOW." 

"Well, I'm in southern Arizona--" 

"You already told me that!" 

"--and it's been 110 degrees for three days now." Sansa heard Arya's exclamation of grossness and chuckled. "Lady and I have spent a lot of time just hanging out in the trailer with fans on. So we really haven't been driving a lot—just exploring different landmarks--" 

"I've been seeing them on your blog. When are you going to send ME photos?" 

Sansa sighed, but reminded herself she loved her spastic sister. "You have to let me talk and stop interrupting me, but yes, I can send you exclusive photos that no one else will get, okay?" She said that with a smile in her voice. It felt wonderful to be so close to Arya now, instead of the distance between them they grew up with. 

When Arya stayed quiet Sansa went on, "And of course I've met some interesting people. Like today—Carla from the diner felt like I was interviewing my grandma. She was SO nice and I'm excited to get her story up on Stargazer." 

"Yes, yes, yes," Arya said impatiently, "Grandma, Carla, diner, yadda yadda. But what about the Hound?! Who is that?" Then she gasped, and Sansa smiled, allowing Arya to come to her own conclusions—like she always did anyway. "It's a man, isn't it? Spill the beans, sis, I wanna know everything!!" 

Sansa navigated through a turn in the road, slowing according to the speed limit sign and found herself on another straight stretch that went on for miles and miles. 

"Actually..." She teased, knowing Arya was probably biting her nails. Did she really want to tell Arya about the Hound? He had been dark and mysterious, standoffish, but then gentle with the baby. Did she want to reveal how much thought had gone into him, how long she sat at her table thinking about his life story, or his personality, or wondering what he would sound like if he spoke to her, not his dog? 

Suddenly she felt like he was a secret she wanted to keep, but just for a while. She never would be able to keep things from Arya, not with their relationship what it currently was. But for now she wanted to keep the memory of him tucked away in her pocket, to only bring out when she was bored, and when she wanted something interesting to think about. 

So instead she said, "He was just a quiet guy with a big dog. The dog seemed to like Lady but they left too soon to see if they'd make friends." 

Arya didn't speak for a moment, but then she erupted with, "That's it?! You made him sound almost rude, saying you were being forced to spend time breathing the same air." 

"Well... He was big and scary, and he didn't talk to anyone--" Except a baby, she thought, and it warmed her memories of him. How odd. 

"So like a big, scary biker type? Or a big, scary lumberjack type?" Arya was pleading for more information. 

"No," thought Sansa, recalling the plain outfit he had worn, the faded shirt, jeans and boots, and the large backpack he carried. She brought up his hair in her mind, his thickly corded neck, his muscular arms covered in dark hair. "Sort of... a cross between the two." 

"SANSA! You're not making any sense. Ugh, MOM!!!" 

There was a shuffling on the other end of the phone and Sansa heard Arya tell their mother Catelyn that Sansa was being uncooperative. Then her mother's voice came on the phone and Sansa felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. 

"Hi, Mom," she said, smiling. 

"Hi, darling," came her mother's sweet voice, and Sansa could almost feel her mom's hand run down her shoulder over the length of her hair. "How are your travels going? Are you being safe?" 

"Yes, Mom," said Sansa with a chuckle, and teased, "Lady and I are locked up in the trailer at night and we don't talk to strangers." 

"Oh, I know you better than that," laughed Catelyn. "You talk to EVERY stranger." There was a silence while they both composed their thoughts, but Catelyn spoke first. "How are you doing, sweetie? Do you need anything? Money? To come home?" 

Sansa laughed again, and willed away the tears that were pooling in her eyes. Leave it to her mom to inflict a wave of homesickness on a budding nomad. 

"No, Mom, I don't need anything. And I am heading in the opposite direction of Maine—I haven't seen the West Coast, yet!" 

Her mom laughed but there was very little joy in it. 

"I know, Sansa. I just worry about you." 

"I know, Mom. But I'm okay, really. I'll be putting up a blog post later about a nice waitress I met at the diner where Lady and I just had lunch. We won't be driving for long now." 

As she drove down a gentle slope in the road, up ahead she thought she spotted a dark spot on the side, but it was still a couple of miles before she would reach it. She wondered what it could be. 

"It's just too hot," she said. No need to worry her mom any more than she already was. "We're going to call it quits as soon as it starts getting cool. We've been driving a lot today and I'm beat." 

"Okay sweetie, I'll let you go. Call me in the next few days to touch base, and I'll keep up on your blog posts." 

Sansa smiled. "Thanks, Mom. I love you!" 

"I love you, too!" They said goodbyes and hung up, which was always sad for Sansa. She missed her family terribly, and perhaps tomorrow she'd call her father's cell phone and talk to him and Robb. 

But travelling was important to her. Learning how to survive on her own—without the handouts her parents liked to give their kids, such as the money Catelyn had offered—was an integral part of this process. And she was being successful at that, with enough income coming in from advertisers that she could travel, buy her food, and pay for her bills, plus a bit more on top of all that. She couldn't own a home or build a retirement account but perhaps that would come in time. She was living comfortably right now, and that's all that mattered. 

And Lady, who lay in the back seat basking in the A/C blasting on her fur, was young and healthy. Her beautiful silver coat was decorated by a wide black saddle on her back, just like a German Shepherd. Everything else about her was wolf, from the sleek shape of her head to her overly-large paws. She wasn't a big dog by any means, but the signs were there. And no one who ever saw her growl would think she was anything but full-blooded wolf. 

With her eyes on the road in front of her, Sansa focused on the black dot that was growing larger, and she saw that it really was quite large, and shaped like a T. When she was less than a mile away she guessed that what she was looking at was a person walking under an umbrella, and as she got closer she could see the blue color of his jeans as well as the large black dog walking at his side. The backpack on his back obscured the top of his head but there was no mistaking it—this was her Hound. 

She slowed with a while yet to go before she was on them, suddenly wondering if she should stop and offer him a ride. Was that wise? She knew her mother would say keep going, and her original impression of him HAD been to stay away from him. But then... he and that baby. How does someone interact with an infant that way and have a soft spot? A kind heart? 

She reached down into the cubby in her door and felt for the compact handgun she kept there. It was loaded though not chambered, as that's how she felt the safest to carry it. Her father had wanted it in a holster on her belt, chambered and ready to go with the safety off. But she wasn't willing to go that far. She preferred it where it was, safety off but not chambered. One pull back on the slide and she would be ready to defend herself. 

Though from this man? More of her said she would be safe than that said she would need to know where her gun was. So with sweaty palms and a fluttering heart she pulled over to the side of the road behind him.

• • • • •

At the sound of a vehicle behind him, Sandor turned. It was the small red Toyota pulling the tiny camper. His hand tightened on the handle of the umbrella when, through the windshield, he could see that ivory face and carrot top of the young woman from the diner.

Damn, he thought. I don't need this. 

The entire time he'd sat at the diner he could feel her eyes on him. It was part of the reason he'd escaped while she was in the restroom. She was beautiful—no, she was gorgeous. And he was so sick of being reminded of things he couldn't have. Seriously—cut off his head and the top of his right shoulder and he had a body that most women would die to have in their bed. But add back the puckered skin in top of his shoulder, the twisted mangle of scars on his neck, and the hairless, nearly earless expanse that was the right side of his head and face, and women, as well as men and children, either ogled at him, shied away from him, or flat-out ran from him. 

Those few moments between him and the baby earlier had been bliss. To have someone look at him and not react the way the waitress had—open shock and disgust—was a moment to be treasured. The fact that it had been a baby, and that long ago he had resigned himself to never being a father, only made it more bittersweet. He'd remember that baby for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. 

The woman who now sat in the truck participating in their apparent stare-down had hidden it well. She likely had gotten a look at him when he wasn't looking at her, and had schooled her delicate features so that her occasional glances at him didn't register disgust. 

He'd gotten plenty of looks at her, though, especially when he'd followed her outside and watched her pet his dog. 

His damned dog! Even now he could have growled at Stranger. The large black lab never let anyone pet him, but he would have curled up on that woman's lap had she been sitting. It was shock, and perhaps a bit of anger directed at Stranger and misdirected at the woman, that had caused him to call Stranger away and to round the corner of the diner without speaking to her. That, and the knowledge that she never would have wanted to talk to him anyway. 

For two decades he had wandered around, likely able to find gainful employment somewhere but really not wanting to. He didn't mind the wandering, the possibility far, far back in his mind, buried under false hope and memories of a lost little boy with a burned face, that somewhere out there would be someone who could see past the scarring. And yes, someone who could see past the wall of anger he had built up around him. 

He was the epitome of antisocial, and now this leggy redhead was sliding out of the driver's seat of her truck, about to be social. Sandor groaned. 

"Hello," she said, but that's all she managed before her gray wolf-dog bounded out of the door and loped up to Stranger, who was equally as excited to see her. "Um," said the woman, her hands clasped in front of her. "She's fixed," she said by way of placating him. He figured that's what she'd assumed when he had called Stranger off the smaller dog earlier. 

The larger dog was circling the wolf, whose tail was in the air and her ears standing at attention. Any other time it would have been a moment to watch as the two dogs were apparently ready to be best friends. But now was not the time, and he looked back up at the redhead, who had walked a few steps closer. She was perhaps fifteen feet away, but she looked nervous. 

"What the hell are you doing, stopping for a strange man on the side of a deserted highway?" Sandor growled the words before he could think about what he was doing. The anger inside him forced him to be cruel--that anger, and the fact that she was so beautiful, so innocent, standing there with no protection whatsoever. 

He saw the shock on her face that quickly melted into a bristly demeanor, knowing she was stacking her defenses in place while formulating a retort in her mind. He had expected those rosy-bowed lips to purse together and for her arched auburn brows to draw together, but he hadn't expect her to put her hands on her hips and open her mouth. 

"Listen, buddy. I'm stopping because it's hot, you're alone, and I have a vehicle with air conditioning." Her nostrils flared as her she squeezed her lips together in an expression of frustration. He would have shaken his head in disbelief if he wasn't so irritated with the strange woman. 

"You don't know me," he said, letting his exasperation show in his voice. At that her arms fell to her sides and she stood up tall, though still short compared to him. 

"No, I don't. I'm being NICE," she said heatedly, sounding as irritated with him as he was with her. "But I don't suppose you understand that. Lady!" She called the dog and turned, giving Sandor a good look at rhinestones decorating the back pockets of her frayed denim shorts. 

"That’s a downfall. Nice will get you hurt," he said louder so her retreating form could hear him. He liked the rhinestones. 

The wolf-dog whimpered and gave Stranger a lick to his muzzle before loyally bounding back to her owner and preceding her into the cab of the truck. Then, angrily, he watched as the woman threw on her seatbelt and put the truck in gear. She began to pull out onto the highway, slowing only as she came abreast of where he was standing, and opened the passenger window. 

She threw a full plastic water bottle—AT him, he was fairly certain—out of the moving vehicle, and then pulled back onto the pavement, just slow enough to not send a spray of rocks at him but fast enough to prove she was worked up. He doubted she even looked in the mirror at him. 

As she disappeared into the heat waves coming off the pavement on the straight stretch of highway, Sandor smiled. 

Doubt she'll be back, he thought. But damn, she was a looker. 

He chuckled quietly, and Stranger looked at him curiously. Whatever had possessed him to talk to her like that, he wasn't fully sure. But he WAS certain that being nice like her could get her into trouble. After all, he knew what he looked like. He knew his scar was hideous, knew not many men wore their hair long like him, and he knew his size usually made people turn and walk in the other direction, or give him a wide berth. All of those combined made for a fairly lonely life for him. 

So what had caused her to want to stop and talk to him? To get out of her truck, as insane as that had been. Was she crazy? Certifiable? Naïve? 

And what was that she'd said huffily before she stalked off back to her truck—it was hot and she had A/C, and that he was alone. Had she been offering him a ride?! 

For fuck's sake, she must be daft. 

But she also wasn't his problem anymore. He wasn't sure who to feel more sorry for—her, or the poor schmuck she was going to rope into getting into her tiny truck. 

"Come," he said to Stranger, and they headed off into the direction the woman had taken. There wasn't any point in stopping. They would walk until they found a good place to bed down for the night, and perhaps tomorrow they would come across another town where he could find some work, maybe for a couple days. 

He vowed to stop thinking about the woman with red hair, and whether or not he would have taken her up on her offer, had she actually gotten that far. 

 

Sandor didn't have long to contemplate that question, because an hour later he spotted a vehicle coming from the direction he was headed. As it got closer he stopped, astounded when it became apparent that it was a small red pickup pulling a tiny white camper. 

She drew near and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. He turned his back on her, hands on his hips, as she pulled over to the opposite side of the road. Hanging his head, he shook it and closed his eyes. He didn't know whether to be intrigued or incredibly annoyed that she had turned around and come back. How far must she had driven before pulling a u-turn? Thirty, maybe thirty-five miles? 

Her feet crunched the gravel when she reached his side of the pavement and he turned, allowing anger and frustration to show on his face. "What do you want?" 

He almost laughed at her as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the air slowly come out through her nose. She was gorgeous—red hair pulled into a messy bun high on the back of her head, held up by a hair stick with small beads hanging off of it; square, perfectly smooth jaw, and the most god-awful old-lady-wall-paper tank top he'd ever seen. She looked like a tropical bird—with large white and pink flowers on a teal background. The only redeeming quality about the top was the halter-type neckline that showed she wasn't wearing a bra. 

He dragged his gaze up from her chest in time to see her eyes open again, and she looked at him, her expression fairly clear of emotion. 

"Look, I know you don't know me and I don't know you. But I just felt like doing something nice and—I'm so sorry--," she added, the apology dripping with sarcasm, "—you're my victim." Her tone almost made it sound like she was even annoyed with herself for doing this. He couldn't blame her—it was foolhardy. 

"What I said before is true—you're alone," she eyed Stranger, "Except for your dog, and I have one of my own, so would you like a ride in air conditioning or not?" As she finished she crossed her arms over her chest and settled onto one leg, the other's foot tapping twice on the ground in impatience. 

Sandor couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he walked closer to her to emphasize his size, his scariness, and his intimidating presence. Together they stood under his large, black umbrella.

"Have you lost your mind?!" He gestured with his free hand, encompassing the empty space around them that was the Arizona desert. "You're in the middle of nowhere with a scary fucker and you're offering him a ride in your truck. Do you have any idea how stupid that is? How ridiculous that sounds?" 

But to his surprise she didn't back off. On the contrary—the look in her eyes was resolved, determined. 

"You won't hurt me," she asserted quietly, her blue eyes boring into his as she dared him to contradict her. 

"No, little bird," he agreed with a curt nod. Fuck. "I won't. But what if you made this offer to someone who would? You're in the middle of fucking nowhere, and you'd be up shit creek without a paddle if you were here talking to anyone but me." 

As he spoke her face softened, and he thought he was getting through to her. But then a small smile appeared on her perfect lips. 

"So you're saying you'd like a ride?" 

Fuck me, he nearly said out loud in exasperation. A little bird with an empty head. He would have to go with her if just to save her from herself. 

"I'm saying," he ground out slowly, "that I will take you up on your offer, just to the next town." 

Her smile widened and became blinding, and yet somehow he felt that he had just been manipulated not by an empty-headed bird, but by a very clever woman, into saying yes. 

• • • • •

Sansa was inordinately pleased with this development, but only because she was sure he was trying to pass off anger at her carelessness for concern for her safety. Plus, Lady was now alternatively snuffling at his hand and licking at Stranger's muzzle. The large black dog was standing at attention, obviously quite interested in Sansa's little wolf. Lady’s acceptance of this man's presence made Sansa feel much more calm. Yes, he was massive and intimidating, but Lady had approved of him, and Sansa knew Lady was an excellent judge of character. 

Before heading back to the truck she looked up into his eyes, still standing fairly close. 

"My name is Sansa Stark," she said, holding out her hand. He hesitated before taking it, looking at it first as though deciding whether it was safe to touch her. But when he did, his hand was warm, and it completely engulfed hers in his grip. 

"Sandor Clegane," he muttered, still looking unhappy about this arrangement. 

An inkling of attraction erupted in the nerve endings of her hand and caught her off guard. Sansa let go and turned so he wouldn't see her face. He was supposed to be dark and scary, not tall and handsome. But in that moment, standing so close to him as she looked into his face and introduced herself to him, she had indeed found him to be more handsome than what she had originally thought. 

Perhaps it was his concern for her that had changed her opinion—Sansa knew matters of the heart weren't always shielded by physical attributes. 

Nevertheless, the feeling of attraction refused to leave her, try as she might to ignore his imposing height and muscular build. 

Good heavens, she thought. This is not going as I had anticipated. 

Sansa called Lady to the bed of the truck and lowered the tailgate so the wolf could jump up. As though on cue, Stranger jumped up as well, and allowed Sansa to lock him in with a short leash to the collar. She did the same with Lady, and gave them both a pat before moving to enter the truck. She caught Sandor looking at her over the top of the cab from the passenger side, his gray eyes smoldering with an unidentified emotion, and Sansa slid into her seat to break the contact. 

Unexpectedly, he was beginning to unnerve her. 

But she was distracted from her thoughts when he leaned down to put his backpack in the back seat, and then climbed into the front, shutting his door once he was inside. The truck dipped with his weight, and Sansa snorted out a laugh as his body filled the tiny cab. His knees were pulled up against the dash, and Sansa thought he would have looked similar riding a little kid's tricycle. 

"The seat adjustment is under the front," she pointed out, trying not to laugh again. Sandor shot her a sardonic look before sliding the seat back as far as it could go. His knees were still high but at least they wouldn't be bruised by contact with her dash. 

"So, Sansa," he began as she turned a wide semicircle in the road. "What really prompted you to offer me a ride?" His voice was deep and still wary, though the anger wasn't there so much anymore. 

She glanced over, noting that with the unscarred side of his face towards her he could almost pass for a normal person. But try as she might, she couldn't reconcile that side of him with the vicious scarring she knew to be on the other side. 

But then, neither could she get away from the body heat she felt coming from him, where their arms were mere inches from each other. What the hell was wrong with her? 

In answer to his question, she said, "Stupidity." She smiled at him when he coughed, but his smile was genuine. Then he nodded in agreement and she chuckled. 

"No, I just felt like you might need a ride," and someone to be kind to you, she added silently. There were so many things she could have said then but didn't—the way he played with the baby, the generous tip, the loyalty of his dog, the way her insides were starting to buzz with excitement at his close proximity. No, better keep that last one to herself. 

"I don't need a ride," he said, his gaze out the window as they sped past orange rocks and dust devils, "But I do appreciate it." 

"Are you heading anywhere in particular?" Sansa asked, turning up the radio slightly. A song was on with a great beat, about being hooked on a feeling. Sansa let the music drift over her and she started to move in her seat a little, allowing the beat to dictate the movements in her head, neck and shoulders. 

Sandor looked over at her, giving her a droll look as she danced in her seat. "No, not in particular," he said. 

"Good," she replied, and then as she turned up the music and smiled at him, "Me, neither." 

 

As the truck moved along down the highway, occasionally passing other vehicles going in the opposite direction or abandoned buildings on the side of the road, they spoke about random topics.. Sansa gave a short diatribe on why dating a social snob was a bad idea, and how she had reopened her blog and was travelling aimlessly in search of interesting people. 

When it was his turn to speak he told her of his childhood, gave her the short story of how his brother had burned him as a child and that he'd left home early. He'd looked at her then but she had schooled the horror off her face long before his eyes made contact. Her heart twisted at the thought of being betrayed that way, by his brother. 

As he spoke he continued to rise in her esteem, until finally when they pulled over for a snack and to let the dogs out, she couldn't imagine how she had ever thought him scary enough to avoid. And she told him as much, saying that she was sorry she had ever thought he was someone to fear. 

Sandor looked surprised as he stepped out of the small truck. "Don't be sorry—most people think I'm an intimidating fucker. I'm used to it." 

Feeling horribly sensitive and emotional at hearing those things about him, she walked up to him and put a hand on his arm for just a moment before pulling it away. 

"Yes, that may be," she said. "But I don't want you to count me as one of them. No one deserves to go through life without at least one friend." She smiled at him then, letting him know that she was talking about herself. But he snorted. 

"Well, I have Stranger," he said before smiling, and it took her a moment of shock before she realized he was teasing her. 

"Brute," she grumbled good naturedly, before smiling back at him and turning to the dogs. She let them both off their ties and they bounded out of the tailgate as Sandor opened it, running off to do their business. 

"If you'd like to use the restroom, the trailer is open. I'd like to stretch my legs for a bit." 

Sandor looked back at the trailer. "I doubt I could fit half my body in that," he said with a twisted smile. 

Sansa scoffed and walked back to the door. 

"It has a pull-out, and a double bed. It's actually quite roomy, for Lady and I." She nearly blushed at the mention of the bed, and found herself wondering what he would look like in it—would his feet hang off the edge? 

Laughing to herself, she told him to get inside the trailer and she'd make lunch. 

Sandor seemed to warm up to her a bit over sandwiches and cold sodas. When one got past his appearance and quiet nature, as Sansa had, they would find an intelligent man capable of teasing, laughing, even charming at times. He had to hunch over but he stood when they were done and gathered the dishes she'd retrieved from the cabinet and put them in the sink. 

Lady and Stranger lay at the end of the trailer at the foot of the couch, which was what folded out into the double bed. Lady lay with her paws under Stranger's head, and her chin resting on the back of his neck. Sansa did blush then at how forward her dog had become with his. 

She had music playing on the small radio and as they switched places—he sitting at the small dinette and her standing at the sink using the water sparingly to wash dishes--she let her body move once again to the music playing, this time a country song where a woman was singing about falling in love under starlight. And as she swayed and moved her hips, washing the two dishes and the silverware she'd used to make the sandwiches, she spoke about her blog. 

• • • • •

Sandor was having a hard time listening to what she was saying. Those rhinestones on the butt of her shorts were sparkling in the low light of the trailer, and her long legs were so close to him in the confined space that he could easily reach out to touch them. 

He was starting to like her, despite her slightly ditsy personality and quirky habits. She danced to almost every song that came on the radio no matter what she was doing, and it seemed she had developed a fearless attitude when it came to her travels. He'd been shocked when she had told him she'd spoken with truckers, ex-cons, the waitress at the shop and immigrant farm workers. She had written blog posts about dozens of people, many of which he had felt should not have been anywhere near her, for her safety. 

His thoughts about her safety were the only thing pulling him away from the sway of her hips and the curve of her waist that he would occasionally glance through the loose fabric of her tank top. 

But as she went on about her blog it also became apparent to him that she loved talking to the people. The immigrant farm workers she had spoken with also had young children, and she told Sandor about playing with them, sharing her candy, and allowing them to pet Lady (who had tolerated it with quiet dignity, Sansa assured him). And one ex-con had told her about the tattoos he had on his face, his scalp and arms, and had focused on the one on his shoulder of his new baby girl's feet, which showcased her birth date and her birth weight. 

Sansa smiled brightly at the memory of the grizzled trucker who was old enough to be her grandfather, who had flirted outrageously at her while his wife stood behind him rolling his eyes. She dried her hands to bring her phone out, showing him the photo of the couple beside their dirty rig. Sandor felt her arm against his as she bent beside him to show him, and could smell something--maybe her deodorant or body wash, but it was sweet and flowery, tickling at his nose and playing tricks on his willpower. 

Sansa continued as she resumed washing the dishes, that when the interview with the couple had concluded, the trucker winked at Sansa and told her the only thing that got him out of bed in the morning was the beauty of the woman he had with him in the truck every day on the road. 

Sansa turned to him, finished with dishes, and leaned against the counter to recount her inclusion of Sandor’s own story, a shortened version that she assured him would not appear in her blog. But she told him of how adorable it was when he played with the baby, how sad she'd felt at Carla's reaction to him, and how rude she thought he was when he hadn't spoken to her outside the diner when he'd called Stranger off of Lady. 

The picture she painted of him was deeper and more meaningful than what he had ever thought he appeared to be. He didn't like it really, but nor did he dislike it. Sansa made him sound more human, more individualized than what he had ever thought of himself. It made him think, and it made him thankful she had pulled over and thrown that water bottle at him. He hadn't realized she had already analyzed him to such an extent, nor seen him interact with that baby. He was actually embarrassed that she'd seen all that. 

When she was finished telling him about himself she pulled a dog bowl out of a lower cabinet and a mixing bowl out of the cabinet above the sink. Then she poured dry dog food into the bowls and set them on the floor. 

Both Stranger and Lady had watched Sansa the whole time, though neither made a move to eat until both of their humans told them to. Sandor admired Sansa's handling of Lady and how well the wolf-dog was trained. He was also glad that Lady was spayed, because Stranger was intact, and had taken a liking to the female. 

• • • • •

They drove for another few hours, sometimes talking, sometimes just listening to music, until they were close to the California border. When it began to get dark they found a side road that led to the edge of a small canyon, where they decided to make camp for the night. 

The closer they came to the end of the daily driving, the more nervous Sansa became. She had established sometime during the day that her curiosity towards Sandor had also unexpectedly built up into a fairly powerful sexual attraction. She found herself thinking about his scar, wondering what it felt like—heck, wondering what every part of him felt like. 

She wondered what it felt like to kiss a man with a beard, or what a man's chest hair would feel like—HIS chest hair. His hands were large, and she caught herself imagining what it would feel like to have them on her body. She had worked herself into such a tizzy that by the time she pulled the truck to a stop she wasn't sure if she wanted to invite him into the trailer tonight or tell him to get lost. 

He somewhat solved her dilemma by laying out a camping mat and then setting up a tiny one-person tent beside the trailer. Neither of them had a particular destination in mind, so it seemed they both had assumed he would also drive with her the following day. She didn't mind having someone to talk to, and she especially didn't mind someone as handsome as he was—said the woman staring at his butt, she thought to herself. He was indeed bent over attaching a rain guard to his tent. No, she didn't mind at all. 

He stood and she turned quickly, not wanting to be caught staring at him. She made herself busy by setting up the trailer stabilizers and pulling the truck away from it. Then she took out an armful of firewood from the back of the truck and dropped them a short distance from the trailer. 

She saw Sandor stand and watch her for a moment, but didn't think anything of it. As she gathered rocks to make a small fire pit she saw him, though, watching her every move. 

At first she thought he was doing it because he was curious. But when she was finished and had set up a small stack of wood and paper to light on fire, he suddenly called Stranger and made off like he was going for a walk. 

Strange, thought Sansa. She got out two camping chairs anyway and set them up by the fire. Then she put on a sweater and sat beside the small campfire waiting for Sandor to return. He didn't. She waited, and after about thirty minutes she decided it wasn't just a bathroom break. After an hour of playing around on her phone and occasionally eyeing the darkness for any signs of him, she decided to go look for him. 

She had her own flashlight in the trailer and after locking up, she called Lady to her side. 

"Heel," she said quietly, knowing from then on Lady would not leave her side unless it was absolutely necessary for her to do so. 

They set out in the direction that Sandor and Stranger had taken, carefully stepping over rocks and small plants. Sansa was unfamiliar with Arizona wildlife and was a bit afraid of stepping on something she shouldn't be stepping on. 

With her flashlight beam on the ground and the sun all but gone from the horizon, she didn't see Sandor sitting on the rock until she'd almost walked into him and Stranger. It startled a scream out of her, because her flashlight hit boots and then travelled upwards, hitting the yellow glowing eyes of a dog before landing on Sandor's fearsome face, his black hair casting shadows on his scar. 

"Sandor!" she cried out, dropping her flashlight. She backed up a few steps and felt something soft give way under her foot as Lady yelped. Startled again, she reached out for something to grab onto but found nothing, and she fell backwards, onto a sharp rock that scraped the back of her thigh badly. 

This time she cried out in pain a moment before large hands were lifting her into strong arms, and she found herself cradled against Sandor's chest, pain radiating from just below the edge of her shorts. 

"Ouch ouch ouch," she said through clenched teeth as she wrapped her arm around Sandor's neck. Where she had scraped against the rock hurt a lot, and she could tell she was going to feel it tomorrow. 

"Dammit, woman, stop squirming," he ground out as he picked his way carefully back towards the campsite. 

But it hurt, and she couldn't decide if she wanted to put a hand on the wound or grab ahold of his shirt. She opted for the latter and turned her head towards his back, squeezing her eyes shut in pain. 

"It really hurts, Sandor," she said quietly, and she was embarrassed when she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. 

"I know, I know," he replied in a softer voice than any she'd heard from him. He was soothing her, she realized, and she calmed a bit, feeling a bit less like crawling away from the pain. 

As they got closer to the campsite he slowed, and then stopped. They were just on the outskirts of where the firelight reached, and he looked left and right, as though trying to find a good route back to the trailer. Sansa looked around, seeing no true obstacle that would prevent him from walking by the fire, past his tent to the door. 

"What..." she started to say, but the look on his face was one that surprised her. His brow was drawn together over his eyes and his lips were twisted in a grimace. "Sandor...?" 

He looked at her then, and she watched him take in the trails of tears on her cheeks. Then he glanced back at the fire, the trailer, into the darkness around them and then back at her. He sighed heavily, and closed his eyes for a moment before looking into her eyes. 

"It's the fucking fire, Sansa." He paused and looked around again before returning his gaze back to her. "I can't be around fire," he ground out in a disgusted voice. 

"Oh!" She exclaimed, and then felt her tears renew. "God, I'm so sorry, Sandor. I should have—I wasn't thinking—I'm such an ass," she stammered, her mortification over her mistake nearly overshadowing the pain she was still feeling. 

"It's fine," he growled, and he took a wide circle around the campsite. 

"No, it's not. I'm so sorry, I never meant to make you uncomfortable," she said, and she was crying in earnest now. She felt horrible. How stupid was that, to make a fire around someone who had been horribly disfigured by fire? She felt like the worst kind of person. That's why he'd walked away. He hadn't wanted to tell her so instead he'd just walked away, had even found a seat far enough away that he could still watch the camp but not feel the fire. 

"Stop crying," he said exasperatedly, but she thought she felt him hold her closer to him. She wasn't sure if that was to comfort himself or her, but she didn't mind. 

He took the long way around the trailer and came out from behind it at the back bumper. He quickly walked to the door and unlatched it, and then set her down inside as he followed her into the small room. She had set up the slide-out earlier so there was more room, but it was just as short as it had been before and he had to hunch down a few inches while standing. 

After closing the door behind them he glanced out the window, checking on the fire. She knew she'd done a good job at making sure the ground was clear, but she admired him for still wanting to verify that it would be okay without them. 

Her hair had fallen out of the hair stick in her fall and now she could feel it, tangled around her shoulders. She tried to pull it back while standing on one foot but got frustrated as it wanted to wrap around her neck. With a sigh, she just let it go and turned to sit at the dinette bench. 

"You're bleeding," Sandor stated, and he crouched down to look at the back of her leg. "I'm going to have to clean it." He stood, his hair swaying as he looked around the tiny trailer. Then he looked back at her and asked, "Bed?" 

Sansa pointed at the couch, and walked him through pulling it out and setting up the bed. It wasn't hard, and in less than a minute she was laying on her stomach directing him to the small medicine cabinet in the back of the trailer. She could hear him wash his hands in the small kitchen sink. 

Then the bed shifted beneath his weight as he sat beside her, and she tensed. 

"Does it look bad?" She asked, knowing that it at least FELT bad. But she wanted to draw her own attention away from thinking of him sitting on her bed like that. 

Sandor snorted in response. "No," he said simply. 

"Liar." 

He chuckled then, and she felt the sting as he began dabbing at the scratch with the hydrogen peroxide wipe. She hissed through her teeth as he went over what must have been the worst part of it. 

"Damn, that hurts," she exclaimed, fresh tears appearing in her eyes. 

"Almost done." Sandor leaned down and she felt the back of her leg grow cold as he blew on the wetness. Despite the pain it was oddly sexy, knowing his face was that close to her backside. Sansa buried her face in the pillow under her head, groaning. 

"Does it hurt now?" 

"I'm very uncomfortable," she ground out sarcastically. If he understood her meaning, he didn't say anything. 

He finished up by wiping on some antibiotic ointment and laying a clean bandage over the long scrape. Then he wrapped an ace bandage around her thigh, using his alternating hands to hold her knee up so he could squeeze the bandage underneath her leg. When he was done she rolled over and sat back against the wall of the trailer while he slid her shoes off and propped her leg up with some pillows under her calf. 

"Thank you, Sandor," she said. But seeing him now, face-to-face, brought back the memory of why he had left the camp. She closed her eyes and swallowed, the shame of it coming back to her. "I'm sorry, again, for starting the fire. I wasn't thinking, and I won't do it again." 

Sandor sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. He pushed his hair behind his ear, revealing the unscathed side of his face to her. "No, I should have said something. You don't have anything to feel bad about." 

"Are you kidding?! Of course I do! It was thoughtless of me to not at least ask your opinion of having a campfire before I started making it. I chased you away from here and I need to apologize." When he opened his mouth obviously to attempt to absolve her of guilt again, she interrupted him. "No—it was wrong of me. Just say, 'Thank you for apologizing'." 

Sandor glanced up at her, the side of his mouth drawn up in a smirk. "Thank you for apologizing." He smiled at her, and she felt a lot better about what had happened. 

"Good boy," she joked. Then that reminded her--"I told my sister about you." This brought his head up. 

"Fuck's sake, what did you say..." 

Sansa laughed. She liked what was happening between them, this odd friendship that was developing. She felt completely at ease in his presence, aside from that pesky attraction thing, and she thought that he seemed more relaxed than he had the first few hours he was with her in the truck. 

"Come to think of it, I DID mention you in my blog." He raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. She smiled. "I gave you a nickname, too." 

"What is it?" he fairly growled, and she thought she'd tease him. 

"Puppy Dog." 

"WHAT?" 

Sansa laughed loudly, and oh, it felt so good. She wiped away the wetness that had formed at the corners of her eyes and looked back at him. If she hadn't gotten to know him that day she might have been frightened at what she saw. His eyes were dark and he looked like he wanted to smash her computer. 

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," she said, chuckling. "I named you the Hound, because you're big and black and scary, like Stranger." 

Sandor laughed then, rubbing his hand down his face in relief. "Woman, you'll be the death of me." 

Sansa smiled at him. "I told my sister that you were a big man, and scary, and kind of a cross between a biker and a lumberjack." 

At that. Sandor laughed loudly and deeply, and the sound made Sansa's nerve endings tingle. She liked it. 

"What did she say?" 

Sansa smiled as she remembered Arya's reaction—screaming for their mom to come to the phone. 

"Nothing," she replied. "She made my mom talk to me because I wasn't making any sense to her." She remembered how she had thought of him as "Her Hound" and looked down at her hands, now playing with the hem of her tank top. She hadn't told her mom about him, and now that things in her mind had progressed to the attraction standpoint, she likely wouldn't. Some things you just don't tell your mom. 

"Did you say anything else about me on that blog of yours?" Sandor was looking at her with genuine interest on his face, and no animosity about being mentioned on the internet. 

Sansa chuckled, replying, "I said you were rude because you didn't talk to me—remember when you came outside to see Stranger and didn't say a word to me? I wrote that it made me feel unsure of myself because I like talking to people, and you refused to talk." She paused then, forgetting her tank top to look up at his face. “Why DIDN'T you talk to me, outside the diner?" 

Sandor appeared to think about that for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to speak at all. 

• • • • •

Sandor wasn't sure how much to tell her. He'd had so many emotions run through his mind during his time with her, even before they had laid mutual eyes on each other outside the diner. She was beautiful and he thought she wouldn't want to talk to him. 

"I just don't talk to people, is all." 

But Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, and he realized she saw right through that excuse. He sighed and looked down at his hands. So much for being the big, tough man. But perhaps now was his first opportunity to open up to someone—this young someone, who just so happened to be a beautiful woman who had pursued him, in her own quirky way. 

"People turn away from me, they don't approach me. I guess I come off as... scary... like you said." 

He looked up at Sansa and she was looking at him intently, urging him to continue with her eyes. He shook his head. "I didn't bother talking to you because I figured you'd be just like everyone else. And when I saw you with Stranger and realized he was allowing you to touch him, to talk to him, without growling or displaying any one of his normal behaviors, I just got irritated. Why bother talking to people when no one ever talks to me?" 

"So you've grown into your scary biker-lumberjack persona?" 

Sandor looked up to see her smiling at him. He smiled in return. 

"I suppose I have," he agreed. He looked back down at his hands. 

"But you're not really like either of them," Sansa said, and when he looked up she was now looking at her hands where they had resumed playing with the hem of her tank top. It struck him as funny that they both were avoiding eye contact via their extremely interesting hands. 

"No?" he prompted. He wanted to hear her reasoning, and was enjoying having this conversation—any conversation, really—with her. It wasn't often that he spoke at length with anyone, like they had on their trip today. 

"No," she said again, "You're not. You're different, yes, but you're also a product of your experiences." 

He watched her mouth as she went on, those bowed lips smiling as she spoke without looking at him. 

“Your scar is the first example, obviously. It’s large and has defined your life since you were a child. You’ve allowed it to dictate the paths you take in life, but it has led you to solitude and isolation.” 

He stared openly at her now, though her eyebrows drew together and she appeared to be thinking out loud more than actually speaking to him. 

“Then, because of that isolation you adopt a dog who is fiercely loyal.” She eyed Stranger on the floor, and when he saw her looking at him he thumped his tail a couple times. “Because you now have a companion, you feel that human interaction is now unnecessary. Due to that development, you no longer make the effort to approach people. You continue to allow your lot in life dictate your path, and it is now a vicious cycle you’re stuck in. Sometimes you don’t like it, but sometimes you do. Being rude and mean and unapproachable is easier than trying to prove you’re still human, a human with feelings and the need for human fellowship.” 

She looked up at him then, a lock of red hair falling over her shoulder. Her fingertips found it and she twisted it again and again as she continued to speak, seeming to have warmed up to the subject. Her eyes met his and she gave him a warm smile that melted something in his heart he had felt was long frozen and dead. 

“But then you meet someone who sees through the shield, and who has made you laugh, made you embarrassed, made you angry, made you shy, and made you feel… And you’ve been reminded what it’s like to feel human again.” Sansa blushed and looked down at her hands again before raising her gaze to his again. “You like it.” 

She stared at him as he stared at her, and it unnerved him that her analysis was mostly correct. But she had left out some things. She didn't say that she had made him feel strong and protective, or nervous and aroused. She had no idea what he had almost done earlier while he was wrapping her leg in that bandage—he'd wanted to taste the skin of her thigh just under the edge of her shorts, that creamy expanse of ivory skin that he never would have had access to, had she not fallen and injured herself. 

She made him feel like a man, turned on and capable of turning a woman on. Her, namely. 

He looked into those perfect blue eyes of hers then, and he could feel that she was truly seeing him—the man, not the scar, and it was an intoxicating feeling. He had never been able to experience that, as his burn had happened when he was six years old. He had always looked this way, and even the woman who had taken his virginity had done it as a favor to him. 

So he looked into her eyes and with all the meaning and heaviness he could muster behind his words, he said, "I do. I like it... very much." 

The way Sansa was looking at him it was suddenly apparent that she was feeling the same things he was, and it both scared and excited him. Her mouth was parted and he could see pert nipples beneath the flimsy fabric of her tank top. 

She looked down at her chest when she saw where his gaze had gone, and just as she gasped and exclaimed, "Oh!" he stood quickly, not wanting to embarrass himself if she were to see the front of his jeans. 

"Goodnight, Sansa. Stranger, come!" He growled out the words in a rush of frustrated arousal and walked out of the trailer, closing the door firmly behind him. The campfire had died down to embers, thank God, but he walked over and kicked dirt on it anyway, until he could no longer see any glowing coals. It still smoked, but that he could see it eased his mind some. 

Fuck, but he was frustrated! He wasn't sure how he was going to handle being around Sansa tomorrow. Perhaps he should pack up in the middle of the night and leave. It would be easier for both of them if he did that. 

But would it anger her? Would he miss her? Hell yeah, he would. She was bubbly and flirty, and also deep and analytical. She knew her own mind but obviously occasionally needed someone to pick her up and dust her off. 

Fuck. He was staying. There was no doubt in his mind that when he came to his senses in the morning, she'd be there, smiling at him in that sweet way of hers, that way that told him she was seeing him as a man and a friend. He was insane, as insane as she was. 

Less than twenty-four hours ago he'd been ready to wander off, just him and Stranger, ready to see where they could go, how far they could go, without a care in the world. And now Sansa had him questioning everything. Every. Single. Thing. 

He was about to climb into his small tent when he saw a light go on in the trailer, and through the thin curtains he could see the faint outline of her body. It wasn't hard to do—the only light around them either came from the stars or her trailer, so it illuminated everything inside. 

He stood motionless, feeling like a lecher but unable to look away. She pulled her tank top off revealing small, high breasts, just shadows against the skin of her chest. But he could imagine what they looked like, what her nipples looked like, or would feel like if he touched them, sucked on them. And she undid her jean shorts and slid them down, being very careful as she pulled the one leg over her bandage. He heard one, "Ouch!" as she caught the shorts on the way down on the bandage. 

She left her panties on and climbed into bed, rearranging the pillows so that her thigh wouldn't be touching the sheet. He'd have to replace her bandage in the morning and make sure it was no longer bleeding. He would totally enjoy it, but she didn't have to know that. 

Then she reached over and turned off the light, but as she did so she called out, "Goodnight, Sandor." 

He startled. Was he caught? But no, there was no way she'd have been able to see out those curtains with all that light coming from the inside. 

Still, he crouched down next to his tent and called out, "Goodnight, Sansa," just to make it sound like he was already in his tent. Then he really did get into it, tucking his boots down at the end and stripping down to his boxers. 

He told Stranger to lay down just outside the tent and knew he would be protected by his dog while he slept. Then he settled in for a restless night filled with dreams of an ivory-skinned ginger with blue eyes. 

• • • • •

Sansa woke in the middle of the night with cold air against her face. She was huddled underneath her blankets, covered to her chin, but still chilled. It must have been only fifty degrees in the trailer! 

Sandor! She pictured his thin tent in her mind and panicked. He was going to freeze out there! Like, literally! 

She stood quickly, ignoring the dull throbbing in her leg and turned the dial on her camp lantern. Then she grabbed a tank top out of the cupboard beside the bed and threw it on, and wrapped her body in one of the blankets from the bed. Lady stood, expecting a trip outside now, but Sansa ignored her. She had to get to Sandor before he froze in his tent. If he was unconscious she'd have to cut the tent to drag him out of it. 

Sansa unlocked and opened the door of the trailer, stepping out barefoot onto her small trailer steps. If she could get him in the trailer she could turn on the furnace and they'd both be warm. 

"Sandor!" she called out quietly, though she felt silly. There was no one around for miles, so she need not be quiet. More loudly she yelled, "Sandor!" 

This time there was quick movement from inside the tent and the zipper was thrown open quickly, and out came Sandor, dressed in short boxer briefs, his hair a mess, and a gun in his hand. 

Sansa's mouth fell open, shocked. "You have a gun?! You have a gun and you didn't tell me?!" 

Sandor was pointing it away from the trailer, tracking it in a wide semicircle waiting to see who was attacking them. "What? Who...?" He looked again, shoving his hair out of his eyes. Then he lowered the gun and turned to her, wiping a hand over his face and giving her a good, hard look. 

"Little bird..." He started, then thought better about what he was going to say. "What is going on? Why did you yell? What's wrong?" He was pretty much growling at her, his voice raspy with sleep. 

Sansa forgot about the gun as soon as he turned to face her. 

He's magnificent, she thought. As muscular as she had expected, with biceps to drool over, a chest to swoon over, and those thighs—she had never thought round thigh muscles would be a turn on, but she did now. 

"Woman—Sansa!" He sounded irritated and it brought her out of her trance. 

"Gun! You have a gun and didn't tell me!" 

"What—What the hell, Sansa!" Frustration showed in his voice. "Of course I have a gun. You do too, don't think I don't know about it! Now, what's this about?! Why did you wake me up yelling?" 

Sansa rolled her eyes, as though it was obvious. "Because you didn’t wake up when I whispered your name, dummy." 

He brought one hand up to comb his hair off his face again, and in the dim starlight she could see the expanse on the side of his scalp devoid of hair where she knew the scar tissue extended. She would have stood there looking at him longer had he not interrupted her then. 

"Answer me—what's wrong? Speak, woman, so we can both get some rest." She chose to ignore that he kept calling her woman, likely because she just liked the sound of his voice when he called her ’little bird’. 

"It's freezing in the trailer, and when I woke up to the cold I thought you might be frozen in your tent." She became aware that the blanket might open at any moment to reveal her tank top and panties, so she tightened her hold on it. 

"I have a down mummy bag—I'm not as cold as you think I am. Now, go back to sleep, Sansa." His voice had calmed, and the irritation had left somewhat. "Do you need some help with the furnace?" 

She could tell he was done with all of this, this odd commotion she had caused. And he was standing in these cold temperatures practically naked. 

"I--" she gulped. "I wanted to know if you wanted to sleep in the trailer tonight..." 

Oh, what it had cost her to say those words. Even now, she knew what she wanted but would only go there if he showed her it was what he wanted as well. She'd love to have a night of spooning, or it would even be okay if he slept on the floor. But that's not what she wanted. She didn't tell him that, though. 

He seemed to think about it for a moment. "Were you concerned?" 

Sansa blushed, thankful he couldn't see it. "I was, actually. I thought you might be frozen solid, and I pictured having to cut open your tent to get you out." 

Again, he stayed silent, though she thought she could see a small smile on his face. But then he walked toward her, and her heart tripped. He continued until he was standing at the base of the stairs where she was standing, so that he was eye-to-eye with her. He looked down at where she clasped the blanket to her chest, and back up to her face. 

"Sansa," he growled. Then he pursed his lips and sighed, breathing heavily out his nose as he took in her appearance. He continued, "Sansa, if I sleep in the trailer tonight, I want to sleep in your bed." 

He reached his hand up and for the first glorious time he stroked his fingers across her hairline and down towards her ear, where he tucked a few stray strands of hair. This close she could see his scarring, and she ached to touch it, to touch him everywhere. 

But then he murmured, "I'm fine in my tent, so the choice is yours. You know what I want, and I'm leaving the decision up to you." 

His mouth was so close, and she could see the outline of his lower lip under his mustache. His beard was so close she could have touched it, and right in front of her hands was his chest, his shoulders. She wanted to feel his skin and his muscles, and she wanted to know what it felt like to have his warm body pressed up against hers. 

So in response she leaned forward while closing her eyes, and pressed her lips to his. His mustache tickled her lip but the stark contrast between it and the softness of his lips was like sensory erotica. She slowly swept her lips across his, and darted her tongue out to trace the crease until it opened for her. She pressed her mouth to his as he opened it, kissing her just above her mouth so that when he pulled away he did so only slightly because part of her was in his mouth. It was so sexy, so sensual, that a pang of desire shot straight to her core. 

She kissed him again, taking his lower lip into her mouth and giving it a soft suckle, loving the taste of him and the feel of his contact between their bodies. It was so chaste and so sexual at the same time—that their lips were the only parts of their bodies touching, but what they were doing was making love with their mouths. 

"Come to my bed, Sandor," she implored him, and she didn't have to tell him twice. 

As she stepped back into the trailer he followed, turning to call Stranger in and lock the door. He commanded Stranger to lay with Lady and stay, knowing the obedient dog would listen. Then he turned to find Sansa leaning away from him, hanging up a soft camping lantern and then flipping the furnace switch on the wall to turn it on. 

She had dropped her blanket onto the bed and stood with her back to him wearing nothing but a white tank top with thin straps, and a pair of soft-looking royal blue panties. They covered a lot of her skin but were cut high enough that he could see the bottom curve of her butt beneath the hem, and they rode up slightly like a thong. 

He was instantly hard. He'd never seen a more sexier sight than those panties in his entire life, and he knew he would remember this moment until he died. 

"Damn, Sansa," he said, his voice a raspy whisper. She turned, her face innocent curiosity, but then she blushed when she saw his arousal through his boxer briefs. 

"Damn, Sandor," she returned with a smile, and she crossed the very short distance to him, slightly favoring the leg with the bandage on it, Sandor noticed. 

"Are you going to be okay? With your leg hurt like that?" He lifted her chin with a finger and looked into her eyes. 

"I'll be fine. Besides, how rough are you thinking of getting, Hound?" She winked at him then, and he felt like he might spill in his boxers. Then she pulled the corner of her lip under her teeth and looked so utterly sensual that he had to close his eyes for a moment. 

"As rough as you want, little bird--as long as it can take all night." 

"Well, we best get started then," she said with a smile. 

• • • • •

Sandor was sure he was going to wake up from this dream, frozen inside his tent like she had predicted, with his hand fused to his cock. But then she lifted her hands, put them on his chest, and fairly purred with her eyes closed as she let them roam over his hair-dusted skin. He cleared his throat to cover a groan and she opened her eyes, a smile playing at her lips. 

"I've wanted to touch you all day, Sandor. You've worked your way under my skin and I don't want you to leave." 

Sandor brought his hands up to her shoulders and stroked the soft skin, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. 

"I'm not leaving," he promised, but then he smiled. "Could we sit? I'm going to get a crick in my neck if I stay standing." 

Sansa laughed at that and hobbled over to the bed, sitting and patting the spot beside her. But Sandor shook his head and instead knelt in front of her. With a questioning glance, Sansa leaned back on her hands, waiting to see what he was going to do. 

"Sansa, I want to taste and kiss every inch of your body. Will you let me?" 

Her mouth fell open and all she could do was nod, but he got the message. So he ran a hand from her knee to her ankle and lifted her foot, touching the soft skin at the top and around her ankle before bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the tops of her toes. He trailed his kisses up to her knee before repeating the movements on the other leg, being careful not to disturb the bandage. Then he returned to her first leg and lifted it higher, forcing her to lay back against the bed on her elbows. 

He kissed the back of her ankle, and as he worked his way up her calf her breathing became ragged and her head fell back. Smiling, he filed that away for future reference. And when he lowered her leg and brought the other one up to treat it in the same way, this time he nipped and licked at the skin of her calf, causing her to moan and writhe under the onslaught. 

"Sensitive?" he asked, pleased at the discovery. She looked down at him, her breathing heavy and hitched. 

"Must be," she agreed with a smile. 

He smiled back, and went back to his ministrations, moving up both thighs to the crease of her hip before kissing her core through those amazing panties. When she was wriggling beneath him and grasping at his hair, she sat back to pull them off her hips, dragging them carefully down her legs to as to not disturb her scrape, though he was pretty sure nothing at this point would disturb it. He spread her legs in front of him and pressed his face to her inner folds, and as his lips and tongue worked at her sensitive nub she cried out, grabbing onto his hair with both hands. 

"Sandor... Sandor Sandor Sandor," she keened, her breathing becoming frantic as his tongue moved across the surface of her skin. He quickened its pace as he felt her climax building, and when it erupted throughout her body he slid his boxers off and moved them both upwards on the bed. 

She was listless for a moment, laying there in just her tank top before he bent to kiss her again, this time with the smell of herself on his mouth. He was so turned on by her responsiveness that he couldn't stay in one place for long. There was another part of her body he wanted to explore, and as he lifted the edge of her tank top up to her shoulder to expose her breasts to him, he growled his appreciation. 

"Sansa, you're so damned beautiful," he whispered hoarsely before taking one pebbled peak into his mouth, drawing hard on it with his mouth and tongue to elicit another cry from her. He moved one hand back down to between her legs, feeling the sweetest thing he'd ever felt with his hands. She was so soft, so warm and wet and ready for him. He slowly slid a finger inside her, and then a second as her hips lifted to meet his movements. He slowly thrust into her as he suckled and nipped at her nipples, and Sansa tossed her head against the pillow, her hips searching for more, more than what he was giving her. 

"Sandor, now," she nearly cried, dragging his head up by his hair to kiss her again, her tongue swiping through his mouth and tangling with his own. Her kiss was fast and frenzied, and with her body she was trying to maneuver him on top of her, or her underneath him. 

"I need you," she whispered against his mouth. "I need you, Sandor, now!" 

He couldn't wait any longer and thrust into her deeply. Her whole body tightened around him and her fingernails clawed into his shoulders. His hands gripped the edges of her pillow and he grimaced, willing away the climax he could already feel building inside him. 

"I'm going to come, Sansa," he ground out. "Stop moving!" 

But it was like she wasn't listening to him anymore, and as her hips lifted to take more of him inside her, he pulled back and thrust again, and again, and again, his pace quickening and his desperation building. 

"I need you," he said back to her, growled into her ear. "I need you, now, I need you to come for me," and with that she did, she obeyed his request and came undone beneath him a second before he spilled himself deep within her, a growl erupting from his throat. 

It was a powerful orgasm, the most powerful he'd ever experienced, and it sapped his energy. He nearly collapsed on top of her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as her arms and legs collapsed. But after a moment he felt her move beneath him, and he thought she might like him to get up. But as he started to pull out of her and rise off the bed her arms and legs came back to life. With a "No!" she clasped him back to her, and then set about tracing small circles against the skin of his back. 

He let her, and he curled around her from where he lay on top of her, scooting his arms under her pillow so he could hug into her shoulder. And he brought his knees up, lifting her pelvis with him in a bid to stay connected. 

It was the knowing of where he was that was his undoing. It was the feel of her smooth body entwined in his, the smell of her hair, the kisses she was leaving on the top of his shoulder, and the feel of her soft folds wrapped around his cock. He felt himself getting hard again, so this time he started to move slowly. 

Sansa moaned low and throaty, sliding her hands slowly into his hair and grasping him there softly as she brought his face over for a kiss. 

"Again, Sandor," she whispered, a plea against his lips. Sandor pulled out and thrust back in, feeling his arousal grow as his movements remained slow and steady. 

"I want to make love to you, Sansa," he whispered, his heart beating fast at what he was implying. He didn't want to leave, didn't want to go his way while she went hers, in a day, a few days, a week, whenever they planned on doing that. 

He wanted to mark her as his and keep her, to watch her laugh and smile over silly things, to see her dance to music while driving and to hear her laugh at things he said. 

"Yessss," she agreed to his lips, said as her teeth held onto his lower lip. "Sandor, make love to me." 

It was a slow lovemaking, and Sandor took his time, occasionally taking a nipple into his mouth, or kissing her lips, or latching onto her neck to leave what would be marks in the morning. 

The sweetest thing was when he reached between them and found the sensitive nub of her pleasure, with his fingers and rubbed it softly, eliciting moans and cries from her despite his slow pace. It was enough to bring her to climax again, and the feel of her muscles clenching and spasming around him, made his orgasm come that much faster. Again, he came deep inside her, never having known anything nearly as satisfying as that. 

They ended it with an exhausted kiss, and he also knew he'd never felt a woman kiss him with such a whole-hearted abandon that Sansa did. She was a miracle and he'd found her in the middle of the Arizona desert. Lady Luck was looking down at him. 

Despite wanting it to last all night, at that point they were both so exhausted that all they could do was a quick wipe down and an intertwining of limbs, a covering with the blanket, and two bodies mashed together in a bed that was too small. And yet neither of them had ever slept such a deep, dreamless sleep. 

• • • • •

Sansa woke the next morning to find herself alone in the bed, her leg throbbing in pain. The first thing she did was get up and root through her medicine cabinet to find some ibuprofen. Once that was done, she pulled on a tight purple racer-back tank top and the pink shorts she wore for doing her morning yoga. Coffee would come after yoga, she promised herself.

After brushing her hair and piling it on top of her head in a messy bun she stood in the kitchen area of the trailer, staring at the bed.

Last night. Woo-ee, last night. She couldn’t even form thoughts for what had happened in that bed. It had been mind-blowing. Amazing. Everything she had expected it to be and more. And she wanted to do it again.

Blushing at that thought, she remembered the intense need she’d felt for Sandor while he kissed and sucked her between her legs, and then when he had thrust into her with his fingers. All she wanted at that moment was to feel him inside of her.

And oh, that moment when he did! He’d been large and it was slightly uncomfortable at first, but it hadn’t taken long at all for her body to adjust to him. He’d brought her over the edge just as fast as he himself had fallen.

So now she was faced with the aftermath of what they had done. Pregnancy wasn’t possible, as she was still on birth control from her last relationship, but emotional connection was. If they continued with this affair would she survive it when it ended? When he had to go wherever it was he was wandering to? Would her heart survive parting from this wonderful, amazing, sweet, caring, sexually powerful man? Hell, she had no idea.

But would the journey to that point be worth it? She smiled to herself. Oh, yeah.

First, she would have to talk to him and find out what he wanted to do. But even before that, yoga.

It always cleared her mind and woke up her body to do yoga first thing in the morning. She wasn’t sure what she would be able to do this morning with her injured leg, but she could at least try a few poses.

As she stepped outside she was thankful to see Stranger laying in the shade of the trailer, with Lady. Sandor must have let them out this morning, and she was thankful for it, but not more thankful than to see the evidence that he hadn’t left her in the middle of the night. She realized a small part of her had possibly expected that.

She spread out her yoga mat on the flat spot where his tent had been, now in the morning shade, and began her meditation. She stood facing outwards, hands clasped at her chest, and practiced her deep breathing. Then she began executing all her normal poses except for sitting ones, which would have been hard on her leg. 

The stretching and moving felt good in her body, seeing as how she’d exercised in a different way last night and her body was feeling the effects. 

As she rose to a standing position, eyes closed, and finished with her morning routine she heard a scuffing in the dirt to her right. She looked over, and Sandor was sitting on yet another large rock watching her. 

Her heart did a tumble inside her chest, and she was suddenly extremely nervous. But, reminding herself that she was now the type of person to take what she wanted instead of being told what to do, she inhaled a deep breath and walked over to where he was, standing a few feet in front of him.

“Good morning, Sandor,” she said, hands at her sides. He looked so handsome in the morning: well-rested, with his hair combed back to the sides of his face, and wearing a clean green t-shirt tucked into the waistband of the jeans he wore yesterday. With his arms crossed over his chest she could see the muscles in his forearms and the roundness of his biceps. She shivered involuntarily, and the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. 

Thank goodness for tank tops with built in bras, or he’d be getting a show right now, like yesterday, she thought.

“Good morning, Sansa,” he said, still smiling. 

Sansa sensed he was waiting for her to say something. Well, two could play that game.

“Did you sleep well?” She let her smile get wider, and he snorted a laugh.

“It was better than I expected.”

“Hmm,” she replied, appearing to ponder his answer. “Me too.” Then she looked away, attempting and failing to adopt a serious look on her face. “I’d like to sleep that well again, wouldn’t you?”

Sandor barked out a laugh and reached forward, pulling her into his arms. It was so natural to wrap her arms around his torso and rest her cheek against his shoulder, and she laughed with him. 

“God, little bird, you’re going to kill me.”

Sansa liked the way his arms encircled her, with one resting on the curve of her hip and the other encircling her lower back.

“The feeling is mutual,” she replied, and she felt the chuckle deep inside his chest. 

But then she felt a twinge of uncertainty. He hadn’t actually answered her question. She pulled back enough to turn her head into his neck, feeling the bumpy, scarred skin against her forehead and the bridge of her nose. It was smooth but puckered, and it smelled just as good as the rest of him. 

She brought her hand up to touch the other side of his neck, and pressed a soft kiss to his scar. When he growled low and tightened his arms she moved on instinct and let her lips find the line of skin where his scar ended and the smooth, hairy skin began. She kissed him there, starting at the collar of his shirt and working her way upwards, brushing his beard with her fingertips as her mouth found his and they tangled together, wordlessly expressing their attraction for each other.

As his mouth left hers to kiss a trail towards her neck,she gripped his hair with both hands and let her head fall back.

“Are you saying you want a repeat of last night?” she asked breathlessly, as his mouth caused his beard to scratch a path down to her chest and back up to the other side of her neck. He groaned against her skin.

“Only tonight,” he replied between kisses, causing her heart to fall. 

But then between the next kiss he said, “and the next,” another kiss, “and the next.” 

He scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin behind her ear, and she moaned. She would have collapsed had his arms not been around her. 

“And every night after that,” he growled, bringing his mouth back to hers. She kissed him with wild abandon, and Sandor reached down to scoop her up into his arms, being careful to not disturb her bandage.

“Make love to me, Sandor,” she whispered breathlessly, mirroring her words of last night, kissing him as he carried her to the door of the trailer. When he set her down on the steps, he left his arms around her and kissed her sweetly. Sansa nibbled at his lips, loving how they felt against hers. 

“You're going to be my downfall, Little Bird,” he rasped, pulling back to look her in the eyes. 

She softly placed a hand against the scarred cheek and smiled.

“And you, mine,” she replied, before opening the door to the trailer.


End file.
